Wednesday, February 22, 2017

When someone
dies, it is hard to say goodbye to a person we loved and a relationship we
enjoyed. But, how to explain the intense and complicated feelings of loss and
sadness when we never personally knew the
person who has passed away and the relationship was (and could only ever be)
one-sided?

It isn’t just
that we continue to feel strong emotions about or bonds to the other person
that makes this separation so difficult. Rather, per Hypnosis Motivation Institute founder John Kappas, Ph.D.’s Theory of
Mind, it is difficult to “leave” or let go of a relationship we have outgrown
or has ended because we must give up a powerful known in our subconscious mind. Even when this relationship is
one-sided, the attachment to the other person can still be very strong because
the person represents a powerful part of that subconscious life script. We
still invest a lot of emotion, fantasy/hope and expectations in it. Whether the
relationship consists of binge-watching a favorite performer’s movies,
following the star on a concert tour and trying to meet the individual
“in-person”, the emotional attachment is very real. The emotional “high” we
experience during those moments of real or virtual contact are also very
powerful. Consequently, the longer we have followed this subconscious mental
script, the more difficult it is to stop and let go even when the object of our
affection or interest has passed away.

For years,
people have flooded to Graceland to tour
and take pictures of the estate that Elvis
Presley, aka the King of Rock and Roll, once called home. There is usually
at least one vigil there for him on his birthday, and the Elvis Presley-themed
wedding is a popular attraction in Las Vegas. Some of my good friends remember
how their mother pulled off the road to cry on the shoulder when Presley’s death
was reported on the radio. To this day, they are all devoted fans of his music.
I knew someone else who sobbed for three days when John Lennon was murdered in New York City
and continued to feel sad about his loss twenty-plus years later.

After Diana, Princess
of Wales was killed in a car crash in Paris in 1997 it seemed like the
entire world stopped to catch its breath. Suddenly the woman who had touched so
many hearts and imaginations with her seemingly fairy-tale life was just gone, and her admirers felt the loss
keenly. I remember standing in Hyde Park and watching the gun carriage bearing
her coffin pass, with the sound of weeping all around. I saw at least mounted
police officer wiped tears from her eyes, and a couple of people nearby called
her name, half-sobbing, half-screaming in their grief. I doubt that many, if
any, of the people standing with me to watch the funeral on the Jumbo-Tron
screens set up in the park. That didn’t matter. They were mourning her as they
might a dear friend. When I stopped by the gates of Kensington Park the
following week to drop off a bouquet in the Princess’s memory, the floral
arrangements and tributes extended almost to the curb and the overwhelming
smell of fresh flowers and rotting foliage filled the air. Radio and television
tributes to her seemed to air for weeks, and Elton
John’s revised version of Candle in
the Wind played on popular-music radio stations at least once an hour for
about as long.

A few days ago,
Rock ’n Roll icon, David Bowie, passed
away after a battle with cancer. Ironically, just a day or two before he passed
away I suddenly and inexplicably thought of his starring turn in the 1983
vampire film, The Hunger. Other than his song, Space
Oddity, which is one of the most haunting, creepy and even saddest songs I
have ever heard, I didn’t know much about him. As social-media outlets were
flooded with tributes to the star, I had a chance to check out more of his
music. Someone on Facebook shared a video of Bowie performing “Let’s Dance”
with Tina Turner, and I wished fervently for a moment that I could have seen
this performance in person. That man had a voice (and some impressive dance
moves!). I regret that I didn’t appreciate his talent more during his
lifetime.

Similar to the
fans who are missing and mourning Bowie, I imagine my sadness about Alan Rickman’s death this
afternoon has more to do with what the actor—especially his roles—symbolized
for me during various times during my life. I actually walked right past him in
London many years ago. It was Christmastime, and Rickman was carrying several large
bags in each hand. I remember he was very tall; by the time I registered who he
was, the actor had walked past, his back already to me. I might not even have
seen him at all if the person I was with at the time hadn’t elbowed me in the
ribs and whispered, “There’s your man.” Looking back on that
almost-close-encounter today, gives me goose-bumps. It was thrilling to know I
had walked past one of my favorite actors.

Of all the
characters Rickman had portrayed during his career, the role of “Jamie” in Truly, Madly, Deeply, affected
me the most. It is still one of the only films that can still make me cry even
after countless viewings. Watching Rickman teach on-screen love Juliet Stevenson to let go and
say goodbye to him (his ghost) was and continues to be a symbolic lesson for me
about coping with various kinds of grief and adapting to change. His films will
live on, but the idea that the man in front of (and occasionally behind) the
camera is no longer around makes me feel strangely adrift. It wasn’t like I
personally knew him. I never crushed on him, although I know I am among
Rickman’s many fans that could listen to his signature baritone voice with
those precise inflections for hours.

It is not
unusual to feel sadness and even experience grief following the death of
someone who has played a significant role or influenced your life. It is not
“wrong” to experience these emotions even if you have had minimal or no direct
contact with this individual. Every time you danced to, sung along with or
cried over one of Bowie’s songs, the emotional response that triggered this
behavior was based on how his music resonated with your subconscious life
script. Your memories of those moments are now like snapshots or movies about
what was going on in your life at that moment in time. Similarly, every time I
laughed, cried or cringed watching one of Rickman’s movies, I responded
according to how the scene represented something familiar (known) in my subconscious
life script. I will never be able to watch his films again without feeling the
bittersweet emotions attached to my memories about what I was doing, where I
was and whom I was with, the first time I saw the movie.